


Death Wears You Down

by ironiccowboykink



Category: Camp Camp (Web Series)
Genre: Death, Nightmares, Prophetic!Max, Yikes, ok so, someone help this kid., someone help this kid???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-02 07:15:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8656426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironiccowboykink/pseuds/ironiccowboykink
Summary: "It was just a joke,” Nikki said. “I didn’t- she wasn’t supposed to burn."





	1. Chapter 1

You’d been having dreams lately. About everyone. Neil, Nikki, heck, even Jasper, and he’s a fucking ghost! Most terrifyingly, David and Gwen had been included too, and any scrap of a memory of the in your dreams resulted in you jolting awake and trying not to scrub your damn eyes out with Neil’s bullshit wood science materials. It's not that they got inappropriately, dicks-out-for-counselors-2k16 steamy, it's simply that seeing them die a billion times over can get kinda old.

 

You're lying. You're a big fat weenie ass liar.

 

It's scary and you hate it, god damn it. You hate that you care.

 

It's been 3 long years since you surprised David at Camp Camp. You and the gang were 10, and it’s been 3 long years of hopefully not prophetic visions. 

 

Just because you say you want David to be hit by a bus with nails in the tires doesn't mean you actually want him to die in that way specifically. Or die at all. Death is a lot more horrible when you witness it first hand, you've found. Dreams or not. 

 

You're not sure what to think of poor Erid anymore. Rad skater tricks apparently end up with broken necks. And drowning, also that. It was that pathetic little girl dying in Bridge to Terebithia but 20% cooler. And real, that too. Can’t forget real. 

 

Sometimes you have trouble differentiating dreams from reality. You forget many things but see the deaths of dozens behind your eyelids. 

Your nightmares are getting worse. The bags under your eyes are designer- this a fucking Gucci household, bitch. Gwen’s going to die tonight and you can't muster the energy to warn her like you did last time. You told her not to let Erid go on that damn ramp, because _nothing_ at this disaster of a camp is _safe for kids, why the actual FUCK,_ but _whoops,_ David sent her home in a casket. You guess you didn't sound sincere enough.

 

You're not sure how you can emphasize your case anymore, without exposing your nightmare business, your misery business- but some part of you wants to keep your dumb excuse for pride, that this cold exterior is really you, that you aren't _scared_ like the either kids, like you don't want to go home, like you have something to be proud about. Being strong. 

Yeah right; if you were strong, you’d own up and stop people from dying. But you suck. You suck a fuck and guess who’s going to be ripped to shreds because of it. 

 

So here you stay until the clock strikes twelve, and Gwen isn't accused of being a witch and burned at the stake. “It was just a joke,” Nikki said. “I didn’t- she _wasn’t supposed to burn,”_

 

“Just a joke, just a joke,” you chant quietly, hands gripping your ratty blankets tightly. “Just a joke.” The flames are casting an orange light on your window and hot tears run down your face. You don't care you don't care you don't care you-

 

Are awake now.

 

Welcome to reality. Gwen's not dead.


	2. Tear tracks and blood stains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tears burn. You burn. Anxiety destroys. 
> 
>  
> 
> (Anxiety attack warning.)

It's been.. it's been way too long. You mean, it's been way too long since you've had another nightmare. Part of you knows you should feel relieved, but the other part of you, the _bigger_ part of you, is boiling with anxiety and paranoia. 

It's never been this bad. Your arms have been scratched halfway to death, you've wrung your hands raw, and you nearly pass out from the lack of sleep. You don't eat, you don't rest, only pace until you drop. But there's no nightmares then, and that only boosts your drive to stay awake. If you continue like this, maybe you'll never have another nightmare again - campers be damned. 

People have noticed your behavior. Gwen, especially - that damn psychology degree she has is kicking your ass. "He's definitely paranoid," you've heard her whisper to David. "I don't know what he's scared of, but maybe you should talk to him." _Fuck you, _you wanted to scream.__

But you were too tired and David's concerned expression brought tears. 

Deep breaths, in, out, in, _out- _god, you can't fucking _breathe, _you need to _leave this fucking camp, _and - it suddenly hits you here - maybe you're the reason for all these disasters? - Oh god, that's... that's...______

Your breathing quickens, the tears come faster, David's large hands are doing their best to wipe them away. 

_"GET AWAY FROM ME!" _The voice, this broken, cracked voice, sounds so distant, but it's there. You agree with whomever is speaking, but only shudder violently and curl into a ball. Your body is on fire, burning from hot tears, anxiety, and knowing you'll never be okay again. You can't believe you've done this to your campers - you can't believe you _care. _"Get away from me.. please..."_ _ _ _

_______You pass out._ _ _ _ _ _ _


	3. -.. .- ...- .. -..

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... --- -- . - .. -- . ... / -.-- --- ..- / ..-. --- .-. --. . - / -.-- --- ..- .-. ... . .-.. ..-. .-.-.-

Sometimes you forget.

You mean, you've forgotten quite a few things, now, but primarily you forget that you're just a kid.

You've forgotten what it's like not to hide, now, and you've forgotten what it's like it to feel guilty. Guilty of killing your friends, other campers. People's _kids._ (You don't have a home to go to but they did and you know you're fucking awful for preventing that.) 

You're hiding. Not hiding from people, but hiding from yourself, and hiding the part of you that's so _terrified._ The campers have already noticed, they've noticed for months; you were so uncharacteristically skittish even David noticed your abnormal behavior. (You know you could have done a better job at sucking it up. You're so fucking _weak._ God, look at what you've done to your friends.)

They can't tell what you're scared of. You refuse to tell anybody. It doesn't make sense to you why you won't, but this voice in your head tells you if you say something about it, it'll happen. This makes you feel irredeemably guilty whenever you even _think_ about telling the counselors. Fuck you, brain.

"Max?" You snap out of your reverie, looking towards the blue puff of hair that is Nikki. Amazingly, unsurprisingly, she's been a ball of energy and a rallying point for the surviving campers (you shudder. Why are these kids still here?), but even she looks tired. 

"I found something in the woods." The words sound hollow. (What are you, some basic protagonist in a story full of shitty tragedy? Shut the fuck up.) 

_You won't die, Nikki. I've never seen it._ (Maybe you're just refusing to see it, and Nikki dies anyway.) The urge to say that comes up almost as quickly as your urge to vomit. 

_Squash it down, follow Nikki._

It's just a rabbit. A dead one, sure, swarming with flies and maggots and- 

You close your eyes, but the image is still burning. Burning into your eyelids, searing your soul and marring your flesh. Your mind. Rabbits, rabbits are fine. Neil is not. 

(This is fine. But don't tell anybody.) 

"Shit, Nikki." The words come from your mouth as easy as breathing. "That's disgusting." 

At your response, she seems pleased, saying, "Yeah, it wasn't as gross yesterday. We should take it to David!" The girl's eyes blaze and you absently hope that light never dies. 

"Okay, you can touch dead fuckin' bunny if you wanna, but I'm staying death-free, thank you." (Liar, liar...) "Watch the Quartermaster dump it in tomorrow's trash," you snorted, walking away. "can't wait to try that! Grilled roadkill. Probably won't be different from anything else than the shit they serve." 

Your skin prickles as you walk away. _She doesn't die, she doesn't die._ "She doesn't die," you say. "she doesn't die." 

_\--------_


End file.
